


Like Philosophy, Like Art

by lorata



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: M/M, Slash, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-27
Updated: 2012-03-27
Packaged: 2017-11-02 14:20:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorata/pseuds/lorata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SPOILERS for the entire series, 1-7, but ESPECIALLY for Crucible of Gold. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.</p><p>Half a sentence from Iskierka, and a cup of grog, passed from hand to hand at a bonfire. That's all the canon gives us. An attempt to fill in the missing pieces. The story of Captain Little, John Granby, and William Laurence, through the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Philosophy, Like Art

**Author's Note:**

> I checked AO3 the other day and found only one fic had been written for Little. I decided that to be a travesty, and so, over the next 30 or so hours, knocked this baby out. I hope people enjoy!

The door to Little's room swung open hard enough to slam against the wall, the handle putting a dent in the plaster. Little lifted his book and his eyebrows as John Granby, human thunderstorm, exploded into the room.

"Did you have a pleasant morning?" Little asked. "I think you've knocked my table over, if you wouldn't mind setting it back up."

"Oh, that." Granby snorted, bending down to pick up the small end table and drop it back into place with a clatter. "Sorry, should have knocked, I know. Just another sign of my abhorrent lack of breeding, me being an uncivilised aviator and all. Can't expect me to know any better."

Little dropped his book and ran a hand through his hair. His fingers stayed tangled a few seconds longer than he'd expected; looks like he was overdue for a haircut, yet again. He'd get to it. Sometime. "Excuse me?"

"It's that damned Navy man, William Laurence." Granby threw himself on Little's bed without ceremony, flopping on his back and flinging an arm over his eyes. Little pulled his feet back to avoid being crushed. "He just looks at you like you're a dog what's gone on his best trousers. Well he can take his opinions and shove them up his backside until they come out his eyes, and if he can't reach, I'll be happy to do the honours."

Little didn't sigh, but only because the sound acted for Granby like a trumpet to a foxhound. "Is he really that bad? I know he jumped the queue --"

"Pushed the whole damned queue out the window, is what he did," said Granby in a poisonous tone. Little couldn't blame him for aversion, since he knew Dayes smarted bitterly for the loss of such a fantastic beast, but at the same time, any rare dragon not in Napoleon's hands had to be a good thing. Not that he would chance saying so to Granby with the other in such exquisite pique.

Little chose his words carefully. "Laurence can hardly help what happened," he pointed out. "Better that Temeraire have a captain than to be lost as a feral, I should think. I think it's a good sign that they seem so taken with each other. It's surprising, given that he wasn't raised with dragons."

Granby snorted. "Oh, surely, William Laurence is a prince upon men," he said, with an extravagant wave of his arm, and Little knew they would be having no discourse of any measure of productivity now. "I could bear it, I think, if he weren't such an officious ass. Do you know, he's decided he has seniority, just because he's captain in the Navy -- as if that carries over! If you'd heard him today, you wouldn't be sitting there all smug and sanguine, tut-tutting about my _temper_ , don't think I don't know what you're doing. But do you know what he said today, when I was showing him around? 'You may take me to the feeding grounds, then I shall set you at liberty', or some such rot. At liberty! And then he impressed upon me the need for me to refer to him as _sir_ , I thank you, and told me I was _dismissed_. As if I were some wet-nosed cabin boy, and not an aviator of four dragons while he's only just managed to harness one by accident."

This time, Little frowned. 'Did he really?" he asked. It didn't seem particularly politic for a newcomer, possessed of such a rare beast, and given to him quite out of precedent, to make enemies so readily.

"He goddamn well did," Granby said, with the patience of a volcano. "I'm not just inventing fictions to make myself out the injured party. He's insisting I defer to him in the most ridiculous way; none of the other captains would ever stoop to such a thing. It feels like --" he clamped his mouth shut, his sunburnt skin flushing darker with shame and remembrance.

Little winced. Granby, third son of a Newcastle coal merchant, had been turned over to the service at a very tender age, as his family could hope to find no living for him. He was not the only aviator to come from such humble upbringings, and there was certainly no shame in it, but was occasionally made to feel otherwise, with such privileged jackanapes as Jeremy Rankin about. His early years, Little had come to understand from what few words Granby would permit on the subject, had been filled with arsenic-laden smiles and prettily-phrased barbs, and he had nearly been struck from the service for brawling until the captain of Actionis took him in.

If this Laurence, whatever his charms, having won the affections of his dragon, had been treating Granby like some common bilge rat, Little could understand his friend's reaction. Still, responding with open antagonism as was Granby's modus operandi of choice didn't seem the best course of action either.

Little gnawed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, then set his book aside with a decisive movement. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, bringing himself within arm's reach of Granby, then -- after a brief glance to ensure that Granby had set the latch -- bent down and kissed him. Granby responded automatically, threading his fingers in Little's hair, but pulled back after a moment.

"What's this, then?" Granby asked, some of the fury leaving his expression.

"A distraction," Little said, placing a firm hand on Granby's chest. "If you think I'm going to sit here and listen to you complain about Laurence all night, whatever his faults, you have another thing coming."

"Oh, do I," Granby said, raising his eyebrows in the most insolent manner he could manage, and Little forestalled any further complaint by kissing him again. Granby merely chuckled against Little's mouth, and Little was vindicated when he ran his hand up Granby's arm and over his shoulder, and felt the tension drain away.

******

_Little was not_ moonstruck _, no matter what some of the others would say if they knew, and if such a pronouncement would not also land him with his neck in the rope. It just so happened that John Granby, of Excursius, not only was an uncommon handsome man, but didn't seem to care about the fact. Little did his best not to look, but could not help noting that coal merchants built them well these days._

_"Whoop, look out!" someone called, and a ball flew in Little's direction. He dropped his book in his lap and caught the ball, squinting as one of the players of the pick-up game jogged over to retrieve it, back against the sun. "Well done," the man said, and when Little shaded his eyes with his hand, he found himself face-to-face with Granby himself. "I'd feel bad if we killed you."_

_Little swallowed and handed the ball over. "I've killed French boarders before," he said, his tone a mix of challenging but friendly, one he'd picked up from his long acquaintance with the other aviators. "I'd like to think I shan't be done in by a stray football."_

_"Fair enough!" Granby laughed, the sound full-throated and appreciative, and he tucked the ball under one arm. Some of the others called for him to rejoin the game, and he waved a hand for them to wait. "Care to join us? I've heard that reading in the sun causes brain damage." He grinned, all teeth, to give lie to his seriousness._

_Little hesitated. He enjoyed sport as much as the next man -- well, perhaps not quite so much, as he rather preferred chess or games of intellectual skill, but he didn't abhor it, at any rate -- but the thought of making a foolish play and losing stature, well, no thank you. Still. Little set aside his book and removed his neckcloth, tossing it on the ground. He disliked wearing them, anyway._

_"Excellent," Granby said, clapping Little on the back, and Little felt the touch for a long moment after it had ended. "We've got another player, so Martin needn't keep switching teams every other play," he called, and the boy cheered. "You're on my team, I assume," Granby said, turning to Little._

_"I have no objection," Little replied._

_Granby kicked the ball to put it into play, where it bounced off a teammate's head and flew past into his own goal amid groans and jeers, and Little felt somewhat better._

_That evening at dinner, Granby insisted that Little join him and his fellows, and sat with one arm draped casually over the back of Little's chair. Having spent the entire afternoon in each other's company, Little found himself able to relax and share in the conversation as much as his disposition allowed. If he leaned back in his chair, just slightly, so that Granby's arm pressed against his shoulder, the other's fingers scant inches from Little's arm, Granby either didn't notice, or didn't mind._

******

They'd all heard of the role Temeraire and his crew performed in rescuing Victoriatus; that Temeraire had been injured, that his captain had managed to save both dragons without losing a single man, and had to be persuaded to bathe and sleep before he would leave his dragon's side. At last, William Laurence earned the respect that had been missing from the corps since his unorthodox introduction.

Granby, having stayed with Temeraire while Laurence took the day to recover, returned to the aviator's quarters at nightfall, where he made his way to Little's room. The action had been short, and despite the injuries, not particularly grave, and all men were used to such things, but still, Little stood and gripped him in a tight embrace anyway. Granby's arms made their way around Little's shoulders as well, his fingers twisting in Little's shirt just as tightly, and neither spoke for several long breaths.

"Temeraire is fine," Granby said, pulling back and running a hand through his hair. Powder burns scored his forehead. "Laurence is with him now." He shifted, scuffing the floor with his foot, and he didn't look at Little during his next words: "He's named me first officer, you know."

"Congratulations," Little said, with feeling, for he knew the honour would bump Granby up on the list of candidates for the next egg, as long as no nobleman's nephew got a leap ahead of him. "Are you all right?"

Granby let out a short sigh and bent to remove his boots. "Fine, fine, only I feel like a right ass, I can tell you. I apologised to him, and he took it well, thank God -- like a gentleman, of course, which makes it all the worse."

Little hid a smile, for he knew how difficult such an action must have been. "He's not so bad as you feared, then?" he asked. Out of respect for their friendship, Little had not gone out of his way to make Laurence's acquaintance, though he had not done so far as to snub him, as many of the younger lieutenants had done. Perhaps having a dragon of his own made him more sanguine.

"No, he's not." Granby kicked off his boots and dropped into a chair. He picked up a book, leafed through the pages, and set it back down. "Damn it, no, he's a good man, and I've been the fool, flouncing about with my nose in the air like a girl scorned on Sunday. He loves his dragon, no mistake, and he's damned good in a fight. I didn't notice the harness had worn through; we'd all have been lost if he weren't so quick. He can't help it that he was born with a silver spoon up his --"

"Yes, I take your meaning," Little interrupted, trying not to laugh. "Your life should be easier now." He fished about in the pile of clothing on the floor next to his bed until he found an almost-unused handkerchief, which he tossed to Granby. Granby accepted it with a small gesture and began to wipe the grime from his face.

"I don't think we'll ever be the best of friends," Granby said with a rueful smile. "My lack of manners no doubt grate on him just as much as his affectations do me, but it will serve. I shan't have the urge to punch him in the mouth whenever I see him from now on, at least."

"I'm glad to hear it," Little said dryly, but he knew the weight of such a concession. "Do you think you can risk tonight?" he asked, after a moment.

Granby tossed the handkerchief aside and examined his fingernails. "I should think so," he said. "Laurence is with Temeraire, the others are with their dragons, and everyone else is plumb exhausted. I shan't think anyone will notice."

They did not have an arrangement, as such, and both did their best to avoid taking liberties, but Little felt a keen sense of relief nonetheless. Granby favoured him with a tired smile. "I'm not sure I have the energy to be much sport," Granby warned, tugging at the collar of his shirt with a grimace. "I'm all over jitters, and dead tired besides."

Little rolled his eyes expressively. "I shan't toss you out because you can't earn your keep," he quipped, and Granby answered him with an appreciative bark of laughter. "I'm glad you're all right," Little said, risking sentimentality. Granby, at least, occasionally indulged in such in moments of high feeling, so he likely would not laugh.

"Same," Granby said, pausing in the midst of tugging off his shirt, the garment still tangled around his arms, to give Little a look. "It's good to see your nose again."

"Oh, do be quiet, and convalesce like a good war veteran," Little snapped, taking Granby's shirt from him and flinging it upon the floor.

Granby snorted again, and pulled Little in for a hard kiss. They were both too exhausted to make much of it, but collapsed into bed together, insensible to the world outside until morning.

******

Little returned to his rooms after a long, hard day of training, working with Immortalis and Messoria on some new flight patterns -- not manoeuvres, mind -- that Temeraire had designed and itched to show everyone. When he opened the door, he nearly jumped out of his skin to see Granby already there, sitting in Little's chair with his hands on his knees.

"Lord above," Little complained, peeling off his neckcloth and throwing it at Granby's head. "Are you trying to murder me? It's bad enough Maximus keeps dropping on us from above, without you appearing like a ghost."

He didn't babble generally unless exhausted, and it didn't take long for Little to notice that Granby had not even endeavoured to reply. "What is it?" he asked, coming up short.

Granby winced. "I suspect no one's said anything yet. We're still in a bit of a shock ourselves."

"What?" Little asked again, frowning. He checked Granby over for injuries, but found none; nor did he see the marks of loss upon his face, and Little hadn't noticed anyone missing at luncheon that afternoon, so it could not be a death.

"They're sending us to China," Granby said, and clapped a hand over his face, fingers pulling at the skin. "The Imperial family heard about that roar of his, and now they want him back. We're meant to go with him, the crew I mean."

Little paused. China. He had travelled far throughout Europe on the campaign, almost to the edges of the Soviets, but never so far as that. "Overland?" he asked, though he doubted it.

"No, by sea. They can't risk it." Granby let out a slow breath, and his face worked in barely restrained anger. "I can't believe it! Taking away one of our best dragons right in the thick of things, just because some fools behind a throne suddenly noticed that an egg they shipped off went awry. We should be standing up to them. We need Temeraire here."

And they did, make no mistake, and could scarcely more afford to lose his crew. Little chewed his lip. "We can't afford a war on two fronts," he said. "If China throws its lot in with Bonaparte, I don't see how we should fight them both off."

"No, indeed, and they're making noises if we won't cooperate like good little white devils, so of course we must go." Granby dropped his hands to his lap, fingers tight against his knees. His knuckles paled under the tanned skin. "I don't know how I'm to bear it," he said in desperation, and Little appreciated the confidence, as he knew precious few to whom Granby might admit such a thing. "Months, with no fighting, and likely no news, either, sipping tea and kowtowing and god knows what, just to appease a bunch of diplomats. I'm not meant for this sort of thing. Even you'd be better."

Little raised a polite eyebrow, but did not argue. Few could be less suited to a mission of great international import than Granby, except perhaps Berkeley. "China," Little said. "For how long?"

"However long it takes, which, given the success of any ambassadorial efforts on this side of Europe, I dare say forever." Granby let out a groan of frustration and sat back. "Which -- that brings me to -- oh, hell." He met Little's gaze with visible effort, and a muscle twitched in his cheek. "What do you want to do?"

Little apprehended Granby's meaning immediately, but pretended it took him a moment, as he did not want to appear as though the thought ran through his mind at all times. "Seven months to China, give or take," he said, doing the math in his head and accounting for restocking and any repairs to the vessel from storms which they could not hope to avoid altogether.

"Plus another seven months back, and however long the godforsaken negotiations take." Granby nodded, the lines of his face taut. "It's nothing, I'm given to understand, to men in the Navy, but it seems like a damned rotten way to be."

"Surely you'll be back in active combat once this gets sorted," Little said, and refused to think of any other scenarios. "Still. In the meantime--" he trailed off with a wince.

"This isn't --" Granby waved a hand between them, the gesture vague and uncertain. He scowled, discomfort making itself known in the hunch of his shoulders. "I mean, we're not -- there's no -- goddammit." He huffed out a breath and kicked the leg of his chair, a childish gesture with which Little could nevertheless sympathize. "Just, I don't expect you to pine for me whilst I'm away, all right?" he said finally, in high colour.

In spite of everything, Little laughed. "I'm hardly the sort to pine," he said, his gaze flicking away from Granby's for the briefest of moments, for pine he had, in the past, and he did not see much joy in the coming year without Granby's companionship. It was not so easy to replace a -- well, a lover, damn it all -- in their situation, and he valued Granby's friendship, besides.

"Good," Granby said, and ran a hand through his hair. "Look, this isn't a goodbye or any of that rot. I just --"

"I know," Little said, though of course he didn't, not really, but he felt he needed to save Granby the agony of continuing to muddle through whatever speech he felt compelled to make. Granby sagged with relief. "You have some down time, then?" Little asked him.

"Thank God." Granby nodded. "I don't know about you, but I could use a drink."

A small smile found its way to Little's face. He would, accusations of fluffy sentiment aside, miss the company, if nothing else. "I'll see what I can do."

******

_New Year's Eve. Below him, the covert rang with cries and laughter; those who had a talent for music -- or merely favoured themselves as such -- had brought instruments, and so the sounds of several violins, only somewhat in tune, various improvised percussion apparatus, and one -- blessedly skilled, thank God -- flute filtered up to the roof where Little had sequestered himself._

_Amid the boisterous roars of the aviators came the higher-pitched voices of women, procured from God knew where for the occasion, and several struck up dances, though this far into the night the steps had become rather muddled. Little rolled his eyes and glanced up at the stars, instead. He would much rather be with Immortalis, the dragon with whom he currently served as first lieutenant, but Immortalis had intoned that Little should make himself merry tonight, instead of moping about like a half-drowned rat, and forbade him from the dragon grounds._

_He did not think that fair, though of course Immortalis did not know that Little could not hope to take any pleasure in the additional companions down below. No doubt the older dragon thought he was doing his young, taciturn officer a favour, by forcing him out of his comfort zone and into society. Little snorted._

_"Well, hullo," said a voice behind him, and Little froze, his fingers on the collar of his coat, for he recognised the speaker. Granby, heaving himself up onto the roof, dropped down to sit beside Little, jostling him at the shoulder. "Sorry, didn't expect to see anyone up here."_

_Little glanced at him, but Granby did not seem to be flushed with wine, and a cursory glance saw no smears of rouge upon his cheek or lips. Small mercies, at least, though it might only indicate that Granby had cleaned himself up in the interim. "How are the celebrations?" he asked._

_"Awful," Granby said with a short laugh, and leaned back on his hands. "They're acting like fools, the lot of them. Couldn't bear watching anymore. You've not known horror until you've seen Martin try to dance, and Berkeley -- well, some things are best left unsaid."_

_Even as he mocked them, affection tinged Granby's words, and Little allowed himself a smile. "It's not my sort of evening," he admitted._

_"Is that so?" Granby widened his eyes, the whites showing bright in the lamplight, but his teeth flashed in a grin. "The one who reads all the time, and scarce says two words together unless he thinks we need correcting? I'd never have guessed."_

_Little bristled somewhat, but he knew it to be true. He was, perhaps, the quietest of the aviators, except for Harcourt, who in normal society would not even be out yet. "I'm not that bad," he said, still feeling the need to protest._

_"No, of course not, I'm only taking the piss," Granby said, unbothered. He glanced at Little again. "Some of the ladies are nearer your disposition, you know," he said, his tone somewhat kinder this time. "You might not be as out of place as you think."_

_"Oh, I think I might," Little said dryly. "I'm comfortable up here, but thank you."_

_Granby fell silent, tilting his head up to examine the stars. He shifted, likely to avoid a piece of rock or something uncomfortable, and the movement brought them closer. Granby's arm pressed against Little, who felt the warmth even through the sleeve of his jacket. He froze, but Granby didn't move away._

_"Seems a bit of a waste," Granby said, forging on with what might be admirable persistence in another situation. Now, Little felt the urge to push him off the roof. "New Year's Eve, and you being a handsome fellow, and all that. You shouldn't ring in the new year alone."_

_"I_ said _," Little repeated, unable to keep the exasperation from his voice, "I'm fine, thank you. Truly."_

_"Yes." Granby did not look at him, and it could be a trick of the light, or perhaps his perennial sunburn, but Little thought the other's colour had risen. "Yes, I suppose you are."_

_Little did not know what to make of that, but simply gawked, until Granby stole a glance at him, a question in his dark eyes. Little caught his breath as his heartbeat suddenly made itself very difficult to ignore. Little wet his lips; Granby's gaze flicked down to his mouth, and he swallowed._

_"You're not down there either," Little said, his voice hoarse, and time seemed to slow._

_"No." Granby's mouth curved into a lopsided smile. "Looks like I'm not. Some ladies will be very disappointed tonight, I think."_

_Now was Little's turn to swallow, and he clenched his fingers. "Just to warn you," he said, desperate, "depending on the outcome of the next five seconds, I may or may not swear to be blind drunk." And before his thoughts caught up with him, he leaned forward and kissed Granby full on the mouth._

Five _, Little counted in his head,_ four, three, two -- _then Granby's fingers were in his hair, twisting in the dark strands, and the kiss turned hungry, almost savage. Little gasped, but did not complain._

_The air bit down on every inch of exposed skin, and standard trousers, cut and fitted tight to minimize the risk of catching on a dragon's harness, did their best to make things difficult, but eventually both men collapsed, spent and sated, the scent of sweat in the air. "A damned good gamble, if I do say so," said Granby, sounding inordinately pleased with himself. He groped around until he found his discarded jacket, and draped it awkwardly over himself._

_Little chuckled. His own jacket lay well beyond arm's reach, and he didn't bother. Granby let off enough heat for the both of them, and he used the excuse to remain close. His mind spun as it fought to catch up with what just happened. "It was a gamble, then?"_

_"Mm, well, I could hardly ask around, you know," Granby said, darkly amused. "And I wasn't about to leave notes stuffed in your boots, or some such nonsense."_

_"I suppose not." Little caught his breath at last, and in the cover of darkness did not bother to hide the ridiculous smile that refused to leave his face._

_Below them, a bell sounded, and the crowd below them erupted into cheers, then a ragged, drunken chorus of 'Auld Lang Syne'. "Happy New Year," Granby said._

_"Indeed," Little replied, and though he had no alcohol to embolden him, he rolled over and kissed Granby again. Granby made a pleased rumble that shot through Little like a shot of whiskey, and raked his nails down Little's back._

_The next morning, they breakfasted together and laughed at the others, who stumbled in, hung over and regretful and triumphant all at once. Granby passed Little a cup of coffee, their fingers brushing for the briefest of moments, then reached over to clank his fork against Berkeley's plate._

_"For the love of God, man, have pity," Berkeley groaned, head in hands, and Little laughed all the more for the devilish glee in Granby's expression. Only a captain could buy his dragon jewels, but Little made a mental stock of his funds, and vowed to buy Immortalis a sheep, since surely no one could quarrel with that._

******

"Why have you come?" Little heard the rasp of exhaustion in his voice, the poisoned blade of accusation, but he could not bring himself to rein it in. A week's growth of beard stood out upon his cheek, and he couldn't remember when he last changed his clothes.

"I --" Granby swallowed, his throat working, and he first spread his hands, then clasped them behind him. He looked well; the time in China and his harrowing journey across Europe had not done his appearance any disfavour. How long had it been since they last met? Over a year, or perhaps a lifetime. Time flowed differently in the quarantine grounds.

"I thought I would come see how you were doing," Granby said, sounding like an idiot, though the wince that followed his words showed him at least well sensible of it.

"I'm sure you can imagine," Little said, though of course Granby could not, not really, not with Iskierka drawing breath as easily as waves beat on the shore. She did not wake him with rattling gasps for air, thick with mucus and sputum. She could raise her head to snap up a sheep without requiring it to be sliced into pieces and fed to her directly, if she could swallow them at all. She could stand -- even fly -- without collapsing in exhaustion from the sheer contemplation of the act. She did not fix her red-rimmed eyes on him in a silent plea to end the misery, a kindness which Little could not bring himself to perform.

Granby's gaze slid away. Little wondered what his own must look like. "I thought I -- I thought perhaps I might be --" Granby stumbled, his phrasing turning toward the proper end of the spectrum as it only did when he found himself uncomfortable and out of his depths. "Some comfort," he said in a rush, and dragged a hand over his face.

"Comfort." Little tasted the word as he might a strange meat from a foreign country, untested and unfamiliar.

"Distraction, then," Granby said, to cover his error.

"Distraction." Little laughed, the sound bringing neither of them much joy. He waved an arm around the quarantine grounds, feeling a stir of madness in his breast. "There is no distraction. There's nothing but this, at every moment." He pressed both hands to his eyes to choke back a sob. Immortalis had not eaten in two days, this morning only allowing a small amount of broth to be poured down his throat, as he could neither chew nor stomach raw meat.

Granby sucked in his breath with a sharp hiss. "My God, I'm sorry," he said, with such feeling that Little almost could not blame him, except that he could -- oh, he could, and any man whose dragon roamed free. "If there were anything --"

"There is nothing." Little cut him off, unable to bear platitudes from anyone, least of all the man with whom he'd shared so many other moments of vulnerability. No more, not today. He took a moment, struggling to recover himself and manage at least a veneer of civility. Granby had not brought the plague. It was not his fault he had gone to the Orient before the outbreak, and returned with a new dragon to his name, a fire-breather no less, and that she should not be infected.

Still, Little could not stand to look at him. "I'm sorry," Little choked out, "but I must ask you to leave. I hope you understand."

"Of course," Granby said, then, more strongly, "Good Christ, of course I understand. Just -- if there is anything, you -- that is, you know where to find me."

Little nodded, his gaze still fixed somewhere over Granby's shoulder, unable to meet the other's eyes. Granby left, his posture stiff and his steps measured, heading for the part of the quarantine grounds where Temeraire stayed. Since that dragon had not yet fallen ill, perhaps Captain Laurence could greet him in a more appropriately friendly manner. Little laughed again, but it stopped, strangled in his throat.

"That -- unkind," Immortalis croaked out, the first words he'd spoken in days. Sputum bubbled at the corners of his mouth.

"Hush, dearest, don't try to speak," Little said, taking out the rag he kept for such times and wiping the thick yellow grime from Immortalis' scales. "I don't think I behaved badly. I just -- I couldn't look at him. Not now. He understands."

Immortalis coughed, and Little pressed his forehead to the dragon's muzzle, eyes closed. "-- good man," Immortalis said, the words so low Little could barely make them out.

"I know," Little said, feeling the knife twist in his gut. "I know. Once you're well --" he heaved a breath, the air slicing his lungs, "-- once you're well, I will apologise, I promise."

Immortalis curled in on himself and fell into a fevered sleep. Only when he was certain of the dragon's current insensibility did Little allow himself to weep.

Months later, Little wept again, this time in a combination of exhilaration and disbelief that threatened to upend him more than the rum Chenery had used to keep him sane these past few weeks. The wind whipped the tears from his eyes with every wingbeat -- every strong, glorious wingbeat, as Immortalis swept through the sky. He'd been certain he would never fly again; for if he'd lost Immortalis, Little knew he could never take another, no matter how great England's need.

"You realise," Immortalis said, craning his neck back, and just the sound of his voice, hale and clear, brought a song to Little's breast. "You owe that man an apology."

Little blinked, confused, until he recalled his last conversation with Granby, all those months ago, in the quarantine grounds. He laughed, and if the sound was tinged with madness, he thought he might be forgiven. "I shall," he said. "Oh, my dearest, I shall, with pleasure."

"Good," Immortalis said, satisfaction deep in his voice, and he coiled his wings and dove.

******

_Little would not tremble. He would not. Immortalis, one of the oldest, wisest, most respected dragons in the entire corps; that Little had been promoted to his captain was, quite possibly, the highest honour that Little could ever hope to possess. His modesty wished to call it a stroke from the broad brush of good fortune, but he knew they would not waste a dragon of Immortalis' experience -- even with his unremarkable weight and breeding, Yellow Reapers not being the prize of the coven by any stretch -- on someone they did not trust._

_Immortalis, of course, showed no dissatisfaction to the match, but then again, he remained in the dark about one particular fact that could change everything._

_"I don't see why you should tell him," Granby had said with a frown. "I mean, it's hardly going to interfere with your duty, is it? And you're hardly indiscreet."_

_Little had turned the dilemma over in his mind for nearly a week before deciding that no, he needed to come clean. He would not mention Granby, of course, for his desire for transparency with his dragon did not extend to the personal business of others, but he could not keep his own peccadilloes a secret, whether it had any bearing on his relationship with Immortalis whatsoever. He did not wish to begin their partnership with such an unspoken truth hanging over him._

_He began by impressing upon Immortalis his full knowledge of the gift bestowed upon him by his post, which Immortalis received with grace. "I hope I may only live up to it," Little finished, and sucked in a breath. "Before we begin our partnership, however, I think it best to make known a certain -- that is, something peculiar to me which --" He stopped, closed his eyes, steadied himself. "I am an invert. That is --"_

_"I've heard the term," Immortalis said, his tone vaguely amused at the notion that Little might find him so naive, after being in the company of men for so many years. Immortalis looked down at Little and blinked, the motion taking two full seconds to complete. "Only, I don't see why that matters," he said._

_Little's legs nearly collapsed under him, but he forced himself to remain standing. "I don't expect it to interfere with my duties as Captain," he continued hastily, charging on despite the lack of protest. "I only -- I shouldn't like to keep secrets from you. It seemed dishonest."_

_Immortalis turned his head, giving Little a long once-over. "As I said, I fail to see the problem. It certainly doesn't affect my desire for you to be my captain."_

_Little's eyes burned with relief. "It's only, here in England --"_

_"Oh, yes, I've heard," Immortalis said, with a dismissive click of his claws against the ground. "You humans have the oddest notions of what does or does not constitute acceptable behaviour. I shouldn't think it matters if you were to take up with every Englishman in the country, so long as you continue to do your duty."_

_"Yes, well." Little coughed, feeling the colour rise to his cheeks. He'd chosen a night with an early frost to come out to the covert, and was glad for it, as the others remained safely inside, the dragons huddled for warmth. "I don't think that shall be an issue."_

_Immortalis inclined his head. "Well, then," he said, and sat back, appearing satisfied. "I think you should head inside. I have no desire for my captain to catch his death of cold before we even begin."_

_His captain. Relief filled Little, as though someone had opened a hole in his skull and poured him full of good, strong coffee. His reservations fell away, and he stood up straight, holding himself with military precision rarely required in the corps. "Thank you," he said, with feeling. "I look forward to our partnership."_

_"As do I," Immortalis said, and lifted into the air, returning to the others._

_Little stood there for a minute after he had gone, then, with a delighted laugh rather more befitting of a boy than a man given his first dragon, turned and loped back to the barracks. Granby, up late playing a game of piquet with Sutton, caught Little's eye, cocking an eyebrow in question. Little answered with a short nod, and Granby's returning smile sent a wave of warmth through him._

******

"Well, he's my Captain, you know, and I have every right to be involved," hissed Iskierka, Granby's spitfire of a dragon. Little had not had the pleasure of making her acquaintance during Immortalis' quarantine, but the trip back to England aboard the _Allegiance_ had done more than enough to make Little feel he had known her for several lifetimes. Not for the first time, he thanked the stars for aligning in a way that matched him with Immortalis, a dragon of his own temperament.

Little blinked awake but did not move, curled at Immortalis' side. The dragondeck was clammy from Iskierka's steam-jets, but even with Immortalis completely cured, Little still could not quite bring himself to leave him at night. He still did not quite trust God not to change His mind.

Immortalis replied in a low rumble, though even this attempt at discretion would not save them from the shamefully thin partitions aboard ship. "And Little is mine," he said, with what Iskierka would no doubt consider a maddening calm. "Your claim on Granby does not negate mine on Little, and I say, it's none of your business, and impolite, besides."

Little sat bolt upright, for the dragons could only be speaking of one thing, and oh _God_ did Little wish it were anything else. "Please stop," he said, startling Iskierka, who spewed steam in surprise. "This -- it's not decent. People will overhear."

"I don't want my Granby involved in anything that's not decent," Iskierka said with a toss of her head. "You might not understand, since you have not much capital, but we have taken ever so many prizes, you know, and that makes him important."

Immortalis fixed Iskierka with a quelling stare, which she pretended she did not notice, but which caused her to curl in on herself all the same. Little despaired. "Capital doesn't enter into it," he said. "You have no say on what Granby does on his own time."

"He has no own time," Iskierka huffed. "It all belongs to _me_. I don't recall being told I must share." She swung her head about and glared at Little.

"Oh God," Little said, in case He happened to be listening, and in the mood to be gracious.

"All I want to know is, what are his _intentions_ ," Iskierka said crossly, speaking to Immortalis as if Little were not right there, and mortified. "That's the question I'm meant to ask, isn't it? Whether or not he has _designs_."

"No intentions," Little spoke up, though he knew it to be useless. "No designs." He ran a hand through his hair and sobered, despite the embarrassment. "In all seriousness, I --" Little stopped, unsure how to proceed. Certainly he did not intend to have this conversation in the first place, let alone on a ship where anyone might overhear. He grimaced. "It's been months since we saw each other, and we did not part kindly," Little said. "Before that, over a year had passed. It's impossible to make any sort of -- of promises, in that sort of situation. And we hardly know what will happen once we return to England."

Iskierka evidently did not find this a suitable answer, for she let out an irritated grunt. "Well I suggest you figure it out, for I should not like to see him unhappy," she said, with an imperious shake of the head.

"Nor I," Little agreed, casting his gaze over to the aviators' quarters. He could hardly explain to Iskierka that the man she knew and loved as her Captain was a different sort from the one who had left for China those years ago. When they left, Granby and Laurence had reached a truce, but had not yet formed a fast friendship. Now, seeing the two of them together, Little had first leapt to a conclusion that Granby had made quick to disabuse him, but the certainty of which Little would not bet too much of his earnings. As for himself, Little was certainly not about to inform Iskierka about Chenery. He hadn't quite come around to mentioning that to Granby yet, but then again, the other had not enquired.

"Then it's settled," said Immortalis, with an air of gravitas that even Iskierka did not question. "I do not wish to hear you speak of it again, Iskierka. It would make your Granby most unhappy."

"Oh, well." Iskierka humphed to herself. "If you think he should not like it, then I would not wish to displease him."

In the morning, Laurence greeted Little with a casual friendliness and complete lack of ceremony that Little did not recall from their first meeting, but which he of course could not reproach now. Granby pressed a cup of coffee into Laurence's hand, then dropped into the seat next to Little and snatched a biscuit from his plate.

******

Granby burst into Little's room without ceremony. Little, exhausted as he was, could not help a smile at the reminder of simpler times. "Is everything all right?" he asked.

"It's gone to the devil," Granby exclaimed, and fell so heavily into a chair that the poor piece of furniture shuddered on its legs. "Laurence has turned traitor. He's taken the cure to France."

"What?" Little heard every word clearly, but he could not make out the meaning.

Granby peeled his hands from his face and explained; about the Admiralty, sending the infected French courier back to her homeland to spread the plague to every dragon in Normandy and beyond; of Roland the others, attempting and failing to convince the men behind the desks of the barbarism of the act; of William Laurence, a man of ridiculous honour, turning tail on his country to save the beasts of Europe.

"And he would leave a note," Granby said, wretched and furious at once. "And no doubt he will spurn whatever honours the French might wish to convey upon him, and come right back again -- and tie the noose around his neck himself, I imagine." He groaned, the sound increasing to a low roar. "They will hang him. They'll have no choice. It's treason, of the highest kind."

Little, as sympathetic as he might wish to be for Laurence's plight, could not move past the first part of the story. "All the French dragons," he said. He thought of the quarantine grounds; of the stench of disease, and filth, and death, that filled his nostrils and his dreams, and which still woke him, screaming, and would not let him rest until he staggered outside to seek out Immortalis and find him healed. "Prussia. Spain. God knows where else."

"God knows indeed." Granby's face was pale beneath the sun and windburn. "It's disgusting -- it's a goddamn disgrace. I've half a mind to set the entire house of lords on fire, and I dare say I'm not the only one.

Little thought of little Volly, coughing with strength enough to send his entire body into spasms, yet insisting on maintaining good cheer. His gorge rose, and for a moment he thought he might actually vomit. "How?" he asked, his voice nothing but a rasp. "How could they do that?"

"They ought to be giving him a medal for saving them the charge of genocide," Granby said viciously, "but of course they won't. It's treason, aiding and abetting the enemy, and they'll have his neck for it, make no mistake."

Little recognised the mix of fury, panic, and resignation that coloured Granby's tone, for he himself had felt it while watching Immortalis slip slowly away from him in the quarantine grounds. Except that this time, there would be no magical cure from the depths of Africa to save the day. "They might not," he said, feeling as useless as Granby must have done when attempting to comfort Little during what might have been Immortalis' final months. "Temeraire would never let them, and even if they did, they would lose their control of him forever. He's too rare a beast for that."

"A rare beast who's convinced his captain to give Napoleon the keys to what should have been his doom," said Granby darkly. "No, I think Temeraire's use has ended, though they may try to get some eggs from him. Laurence didn't up and decide to turn on the Admiralty just like that -- it's not in his nature. You should see his cheek twitch if you ask him to contradict a superior who's just made a tactical error. The Admiralty has to know that."

"I don't know what to do," Little said, cursing himself, but Granby did not blame him for it. He merely shook his head and leaned forward to rest his face in his hands.

"Nor I," Granby said, his voice hollow. "But if they ask me to testify, and I'm sure they will, I damn well won't give them any satisfaction. What they've done is disgusting, and I'm about to let them know it."

"And I," Little said, for though he had not seen much of Laurence since their first encounters, he could not fault the man, treason on paper or no. If faced with the same decision, he could not say, not for certain that he would not have done the same -- though again, neither could he say that he would have. Granby's Laurence, whatever his faults, was a great man indeed. "They'll have trouble extracting anything from us, I should think. Any aviator should feel the same."

'You'd think, but some are already spitting at his name." Granby's shoulders shook, and Little pretended he did not notice. "Well, I suppose there's no point in locking the barn door now, since the horse has up and gone to France," Granby said, injecting false cheer into his voice. "So now, I suppose, we wait."

He looked at Little, his expression bleak, and Little returned the stare. Neither of them spoke again that night.

******

The days and nights bled together in a mess of wings, guns, and screams, as they cut down the French retreaters. At first Little had approved -- give the French a taste of the fear they'd instilled in the people whose towns they robbed, and whose women they outraged -- but as time dragged on, disgust crept into his thoughts the way sewage seeped into a tainted water supply. It infected the men, too, until even the most boisterous of them fell silent, muttering and exchanging sidelong glances, like a splinter under one's fingernail.

True, Little had not spent much time in William Laurence's acquaintance before he began his treks across the globe, but even so, Little could not reconcile what memories he had of the quiet, principled man who had duty written plain across his features, with this pinched, angry figure who slaughtered men under the flag of surrender. It was not the carrying-out of questionable orders that surprised him so much as the cold fury with which Laurence approached them.

It did not seem fair, either, for Little to find himself thrown back in together with Granby, only for him to find his old friend just as changed. True, to compare him now, thick in a controversial (at best) and reprehensible (most likely) campaign across the interior, with the man who'd had nothing but the responsibilities of first lieutenant and a few aerial raids to torment him, seemed unjust, but Little could not help it. Certainly the Granby who'd left Little behind in England did not mark the hours deep into the night with discarded bottles, or snarl at anyone who might lay a hand on his shoulder, only to sink into a guilty stupor.

Little thought of himself, plied with rum by Chenery's callused hands during Immortalis' recovery until thoughts and regrets and fears slurred to nothing. If Immortalis had succumbed, well. Little did not much savour following that line of thought too far.

"John," he said, standing at the opening to Granby's tent, his throat closed at the sight of him, hunched over the rickety table. Already several bottles lay discarded at Granby's feet.

"Don't," Granby said, his voice thick, and he didn't raise his head or turn to face him. "For God's sake, don't. I can't deal with both of you."

"You don't need to deal with anything," Little said, hearing the edge to his words but unable to file it done. They none of them had slept much over the last week, and it showed in all of them. He tangled a hand in his hair and tugged, allowing the small points of pain to ground him. "You're clearly over your head dealing with -- Laurence."

Little stumbled there, uncertain which form of address to use, as the man had been bounced all over with Captain and Mr and God knew what else. Granby sucked in a breath and turned his head without raising it, giving Little a look over the top of his arm. "God damn the man to hell and back," Granby said, with full force of every drop of alcohol in his system. "I should let him go. He'll hang himself from the guilt of it soon enough, and I should think myself well shot of him. I tried -- I only thought to mention -- and he told me I could transfer if I wished. Transfer! And he called --" Granby's voice choked off, and he pressed the heels of both hands against his eyes. "He called me _Captain_ Granby. As if -- Christ damn him and his damnable _everything_ to the depths of hell!"

Granby did not pitch the bottle across the tent, or anything so dramatic, but rather sank deeper, his head hitting the tabletop. Little wondered, briefly, whether he himself had not been the only one to find new companionship during their separation, but dismissed it after a moment's thought. Granby's despondency and hopelessness seemed too great.

They could not -- the battlefield, and the open tent -- and Chenery, who was the farthest a man could be from possessing a jealous temper, but still -- and so Little did not, but he did cross the distance between them and lay a hand on the back of Granby's neck. Such a liberty could be forgiven even among the others; men huddled together, shoulders and thighs pressed close, passing cups of grog between them, a bit of human contact and decency in the mire.

Granby did not acknowledge the touch at first, but then Little felt him shake beneath his hand, and Granby released a sound that was neither a sob, nor a laugh, nor a growl, nor a shout, but something with an element of all mixed together. Little said nothing, but fixed his gaze on the maps strewn across Granby's bed roll and did not move until the weight of exhaustion and rum dragged Granby into a restless sleep. Then Little muscled him over to his sleeping roll, covered him with a blanket, and left the tent.

He brushed past Laurence, en route to speak with Temeraire, and while Laurence gave Little a polite, if distant nod, Little found himself powerless to do anything but skewer the back of Laurence's head with an icy glare and hope he felt the point of it.

Laurence did, at last, refuse his orders, and the men breathed easier despite the forthcoming battle against Napoleon. Little sought out Granby, who for the first time in weeks did not have the flush of alcohol upon him. Laurence had taken Granby aside earlier that day and spoken to him in low tones, and though Little did not attempt to overhear, he did mark that Laurence, at least, seemed properly contrite regarding his damnable behaviour.

Granby, for his part, seemed ready enough to forgive, but Little could not, not yet. "Looks like Tharkay convinced him," Granby said, when Little joined him by the fire, bringing Chenery for moral support and a bit of levity. "I'd like to know what he said, but of course neither of them are talking." He shook his head and poked at the fire in a desultory fashion.

Chenery leaned back and gave Little a speculative look across Granby's shoulders, one eyebrow raised. Little coughed and shook his head; they could hardly expect any privacy now. He suspected Chenery only wanted to rattle him for the sake of amusement, though from the cast of Chenery's gaze as it swept over the corded muscle in Granby's upper arm, it appeared that his interest, at least, was genuine. Chenery winked and clapped Granby upon the back, the latter thankfully having missed the entire exchange.

Little could not forgive Laurence, and while he did not go so far as to vow never to do so, he could not imagine the possibility in the near future. That is, not until he stumbled across Laurence in the clearing with his dragon, leaning his head against Temeraire's neck and weeping while Temeraire keened and nosed at him, helpless. Little trespassed upon their solitude for one minute, two, until he found that, no matter how deep he dredged, he could no longer feel any anger. He clucked his tongue and turned back to find the others, leaving Laurence to his regrets.

******

"Iskierka means to go after the _Allegiance_ ," Granby said, glancing behind as though someone had hid themselves in Little's closets. "She thinks I don't know, of course, but I'm not stupid. I know why she's been flying for hours and seeing how long she can go between meals, then stuffing herself to the ears."

"You mean to stop her?" Little asked. The ship bearing William Laurence away to his life of exile had left that morning, and though Little and Chenery had done their best, Granby remained in a dull humour.

Granby sucked his teeth and straightened his shoulders. "I mean to go with her," he said, and pressed his mouth into a thin line.

Little fell back a pace. It struck him, then, that he knew something Granby did not: that Granby could not be more in love with William Laurence if the entire world were to fade around them, and that Granby had even less of an idea of this fact than Laurence. The knowledge rendered him mute as he struggled to find the proper words. "Do you think that's wise?" he asked, at last.

"Oh, hang wise," Granby said viciously. "He's saved us all, and they damn well know it -- and we _need_ them both -- it's like China all over again, only worse, because they don't intend to bring him back. And I don't trust him not to swallow the whole line about guilt and duty and whatnot and, I don't know, jump off the side of the ship, except he wouldn't, because that wouldn't be _honourable_ , and I just -- I don't trust him on his own."

Little nodded. He gnawed the inside of his cheek, choosing his words the way he might his footsteps across a newly frozen river. He watched for tics in Granby's expression like the sound of cracking in the ice. "We need you here, you know," he said. "Particularly Iskierka."

"She'll be no good to anyone if she doesn't get this out of her system," Granby said, giving a shake of the head, and Little recognised the patented captain's mixture of exasperation and devotion in his tone. "It's not as though it's forever, and it will take Napoleon a while to lick his wounds, so --" he spread his hands.

Not forever, but Granby could have no idea when he might return; Little could well imagine another two-year gap separating this meeting and the one subsequent. At the same time, Little saw that Granby could no more think of the future at that moment than he could convince his dragon to stay and fight in England while his closest friend sailed off without them. Somewhere, in the intervening years since William Laurence blundered his priggish, sincere way into their lives, he had worked his way into Granby's life so much that, like a bullet too close to the heart, he could not be removed without causing greater damage.

Little smiled, and though the expression carried a dash of lemon, it did not sour his regard. He himself had not remained idle during Granby's voyages elsewhere; he knew, in his deepest thoughts, that he could wish Granby well with the heartiest of congratulations, and truly mean it. He also knew that he could not -- nor could he offer up any notion that this would, in all likelihood, be the end of whatever arrangement they had declined to put to paper.

"I think he will be glad to have you," Little said, laying a hand on Granby's shoulder and giving it a squeeze. "You're a good man, you know. You're good for him, I think." He didn't add 'too good', as that would be unworthy of him and Laurence at once, and he didn't actually mean it, besides.

Granby snorted, but he softened it with a self-deprecating grin. "I don't know about that, but I thank you all the same." He dragged a hand across the lower half of his face, and something flickered in his eyes that made Little wonder whether Granby sensed the undercurrent of finality, even if he didn't recognise it to any conscious extent. Granby swallowed. "I'd stay tonight, if it's all right with you," he said, full of bluster. "I mean, if you -- or Chenery --"

"Oh, Chenery," Little said, amused, in a tone that he hoped Granby read as 'he won't mind' and not 'he'll ply me for details later'. "It's all right." He grinned and offered Granby a hand, tugging him close. "I only hope you won't be a disappointment, given the long dry spell you've had. I've waited a long time, you know."

Granby sputtered, and Little laughed, loud and long, before Granby growled and kissed him to shut him up. Little continued to chuckle into the kiss until Granby shoved him back on the bed, both of them stumbling as the backs of Little's knees hit the edge.

They lingered in the morning, but at last Granby untangled himself from the blankets and pulled on his clothes. He hesitated, tugging at the sleeves of his jacket, and Little couldn't stand to suffer through the both of them trying to say goodbye without actually speaking those words, or wishing each other luck without acknowledging the very real possibility that one or both of them would be dead within the year. Little kissed him, once more, and smiled. "Good wind to you," he said.

"And to you." Granby twitched, drawing himself up straight. "Don't kill Napoleon before I get back."

"You'd better hurry, then," Little said, and Granby laughed and took his leave. Little closed the door behind him rather than watching him walk away.

After lunch, when Granby was sure to have gone, Little stopped by to see Immortalis, who did not have to report to training for another hour. "Are you all right?" the dragon asked him, nosing Little on the shoulder.

"I will be," Little said, and rested his hand against Immortalis' neck. "Just give me time."

******

The months passed, in a blur of cannon-fire and round-shot, of wingbeats and bullets and blood and sabres, of Immortalis' low chuckle and Chenery's wild laughter; then Little was called to South America, and found himself looking at John Granby, some two years since their last meeting. Of course, landing in the midst of a diplomatic fracas, caught between several armies and the meddlesome Arthur Hammond besides, Little did not have much chance to speak with him, but he noted that Granby looked well, and absurdly relieved with his station in life, upcoming battle or no. The sight of Granby's missing arm shocked Little for a moment, before he decided that Granby wore its loss well.

The reason for the Granby's elevated mood came out with the news that Iskierka had intended to marry Granby to the empress of the Incas, at which point Little deliberately inhaled his food too quickly so that his half-hysterical shriek of laughter might be mistaken for distress at the lack of oxygen. Luckily the information came from someone other than the source himself, for Granby was likely to have skewered him out of utter mortification, though hearing the tale related in William Laurence's roundabout fashion only made it all the more ridiculous.

During the preparations for battle, Little found himself thrown in with Granby now and again, and realised, with a glow in his breast, that they had managed to accomplish what most separated lovers never could; a comfortable, amicable parting of the ways that in no way dampened their deep affection for one another.

The battle went as smoothly as one might ever wish, and after, as everyone celebrated and Hammond, the envoy of the crown, attempted not to hyperventilate at the avoidance of international disaster, Little decided they finally had time to speak. "I'm going to find Granby," he said to Chenery.

Chenery, flushed with drink and satisfaction from a job well fought, grinned jostled Little's shoulder. "Make sure you tease His Nearly Imperial Highness for me," he said, chuckling freely. "My God, would that not have been a lark and a half. The next time something horrid happens, I shall only need to think of that, and then I shall laugh until I die."

"Be nice," Little said and hit him on the arm, then slipped away.

He scoured the crowds for Granby, but did not find him right away; only when he thought to search the rooftops did he spy the familiar silhouette against the stars -- but this time, Granby was not alone. He sat with Laurence, the two in a deep, companionable silence which Little recognised, and felt in his chest. Little watched them for a few minutes, not wishing to intrude on a moment of import, but after a while he concluded that he observed nothing more or less than the two men enjoying one another's company without need for idle chatter.

Much had changed over the years, indeed. Little kicked a pebble on the stairs, marking his presence, and both turned to face him. "Good e'en," Little said. "Mind if I join you?"

"Have a seat," Granby said with warmth, and shifted closer to Laurence to give Little room.

Laurence cleared his throat. "I -- should allow the two of you to catch up," he said, and excused himself. Little checked his expression for any sign of jealousy or displeasure, but saw only the characteristic propriety and genuine desire to avoid offence which the other officers found vaguely amusing.

Little raised his eyebrows at Granby, who slapped his forehead. "So his refusal to make eye contact wasn't just my imagination," Little remarked, watching Laurence depart. "You told him?"

"I did not!" Granby expostulated, flushing right to his roots with such strength that Little made it out even in the moonlight. "That damned dragon of mine did. I didn't even know she had any idea."

Little did not mention his conversation with Iskierka and Immortalis on their return from the Cape. "She's more observant than you give credit, perhaps," he said, and left it at that. "You seem -- content."

Granby glanced back at Laurence, the motion reflexive. "Do I?" he asked, the question an honest one. "I haven't really thought about it -- God knows I haven't had the time. But I told him, you know -- not about you, or us, but just -- myself, when I thought I really would have to marry that woman and sire a bunch of brats by her. And he." Granby let out a laugh, the sound a mixture of surprise, relief, and something deeper. "Well, he was dreadfully Laurence about it, is the only way to put it, really. He passed no judgement, and he didn't faint or run away screaming, but he hasn't brought it up since -- doesn't think it his business, most likely. I'm sure he thinks leaving us alone is doing us a favour -- which I won't deny, mind. Just a different one." He smiled, the expression warm and open and completely without artifice, and Little knew that, in another lifetime, he could well have fallen in love with this man.

Little blinked. "So he didn't -- he wasn't aware, before this business with the Incas, then."

Granby shook his head. "No, why should he? I dare say if I'd brought it up any sooner, he'd've fainted dead away."

Little had honestly not expected that. Having watched Granby and Laurence together, seeing the easy camaraderie and mix of trust in devotion that suffused every word or action between them, he had, of course, taken that to mean they had come to some sort of arrangement. That Laurence had only just learned of Granby's personal leanings was a shock -- to his purse, as well, as he now owed Chenery ten quid.

"I would have thought --" Little began, but Granby's expression shifted into genuine puzzlement, and so he held his peace. Time enough for that, Little thought; if they wished to move slowly, then he would by no means interfere. "Well, no matter," he said. "I'm just glad it hasn't affected your friendship."

"As am I," Granby said, the full weight of his agreement coming to bear in the relieved slump of his shoulders. "It's a little absurd, isn't it, how things turned out." He glanced at Little, concern writ across his features. "And you -- you're happy?"

Little thought of Immortalis, well and whole, and Chenery's exuberance and open affection. "I am," he said, and meant it.

"Chenery --" Granby said, with only a small moment of hesitation. "He treats you well?"

"We treat each other well, I think," Little replied with a smile. "I can only hope you have found your life to be so satisfying."

Granby snorted and waved a hand at the stump of his arm, closed off with a plain but serviceable hook. "Between my dragon and that man, I'm sure to be run mad before I'm thirty-five," he said, and shook his head. "That man," he repeated. "I'd follow him all the way around the globe, you know. It's almost embarrassing."

"You already have," Little said. "China, Africa, New South Wales, South America -- you only need stop by the northern colonies and you'll have well circumnavigated the globe in chase of him." He flashed Granby a cheeky grin. "If he isn't well convinced of your --" (careful, careful, he warned himself) "-- friendship, you may want to check him for a head injury."

"No, I think, at least, we are clear upon that point." Granby's mouth twitched. "I'd better find him, before he explodes from all the worrying he's likely doing, wondering if he's offended one or both of us." He reached over and squeezed Little's shoulder; Little closed his own fingers over Granby's hand and pressed it. "It's uncommon good to see you," Granby said. "I'm damned glad you're doing well."

"And you." Little stood, and they shook hands; he watched Granby head off after Laurence, and the two men stood together, heads bent in conference.

An arm stole about his waist, and Little nearly leapt out of his skin. "Hush," Chenery said, his voice low in Little's ear. "You'll frighten them, and it's too precious."

"You're intoxicated," Little reproached, prodding Chenery in the stomach with his elbow, but he did not pull away. Tonight, at least, they need not be quite so cautious, with everyone blind drunk down below.

"Intoxicated with _you_ ," Chenery said, nuzzling Little in the shoulder and putting enough sugar in his voice to make the words the utmost in ridiculousness. Little clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh.

"We should go, and leave them their privacy," Little said, poking Chenery in the ribs again. "It's not right, you voyeur."

"Oh, all right, if you're going to be so proper about it," Chenery said with a disappointment likely only half-feigned. "Not that we're spying on anything of import, anyway."

"Not yet," Little said. In the distance, Granby stumbled in the dark, and Laurence put out a hand to steady him. Little smiled.

"By the way," Chenery said, silk and cream in his tone, "I believe you owe me ten pounds."


End file.
